


Mulled Wine and a Bit of Courage

by msmerlin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Romance, Best Friends, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin
Summary: Many things had changed since the end of the war, but Harry’s boyhood crush on his best friend was certainly not one of them. Both newly single, Harry invites Hermione to come stay the night at his house in Christmas Eve to help him with his god son with the best intentions in mind, but fate has a funny way of bringing those who are meant to be together. Written for Harmony & Co. Advent Collection.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I am writing this FanFiction for fun, no profit is made off the use of these characters. 
> 
> Additionally, there are direct lines from 'The Polar Express' by Chris Van Allsburg and those are (obviously) not of my own creation, but rather leveraged to help tell this story because of the fondless I hold for the book and how it impacted my childhood. <3 If you have not read the book, I highly encourage you buy a copy this holiday season and read it!

**_December 24th, 2003_ **

“So wait… you’re telling me that they believe a man in a velvet red suit Apparates down their chimney to drop off presents?” Ron repeated for what was probably the fourth time in the last hour since Harry and Hermione had decided to give him an overview of what a Muggle Christmas was. His mouth was slightly agape and the corner of chocolate chip cookie he had just taken a bite of hung loosely from the side of his mouth.

“Ronald, for the millionth time, do not speak with food in your mouth,” Hermione scolded from the floor where she sat in front of the coffee table with thick brown parchment and some twine she had transfigured into more suitable ribbon and bows for the presents she was wrapping. “But yes. Santa comes around on Christmas Eve to drop off presents for all Muggle boys and girls. Why are you acting so flabbergasted? You’ve seen his picture before, I’m nearly certain of it.”

Lifting his hand the redhead waved off Hermione’s etiquette reminder as if it was a gnat, but he had obviously taken the request to heart because he pulled the cookie from his lips into his mouth and chewed quickly before continuing his questioning. “Well yes, I’ve seen him. I guess I just assumed he was one of those things Muggles put in shop windows...like that Jesus fellow or the polar bear with the red scarf and bottle of fizzy drink. How was I supposed to know the one with the beard was a burglar?”

Harry, who had been listening to Hermione and Ron’s conversation while hanging bulbs on the Christmas tree, burst into laughter to the point that he had to pause his decorating for fear of breaking the ornament he held. Ron had just unknowingly compared the Muggle messiah to a pop culture reference from a soda company, and while this was absolutely hysterical to him, he knew that the muggleborn witch in the room was not exactly thrilled that Ron had clearly not retained anything from their Muggle Studies lessons years prior.

“What?” Ron questioned when Hermione paused wrapping to lift both hands to cover her face as she shook her head. “You celebrated this, Hermione?”

“Of course I did,” Hermione scoffed before dropping her hands from her face with a heavy sigh to straighten the small stack of children’s books she had set in the center of the parchment moments before Ron called a beloved childhood figure a burglar. “A lot of Muggles do.”

“Even you, Harry?” Ron pressed, glancing over his shoulder to look at Harry who stood in front of the freshly cut pine tree, hanging the last of the glass bulbs by hand. Ron had offered to show him a spell that would dress the tree properly in the blink of an eye, but Harry insisted that they do it the Muggle way, which was how the whole darn conversation had started. A Muggle Christmas was not something Ron had any familiarity with, despite the fact he had been friends with Hermione and Harry for going on thirteen years now.

“Sort of...I never really got traditional presents, but I saw Dudley open loads of them,” Harry explained as he took a step back from the tree to admire his handiwork, which granted, would have likely looked more balanced with the placements had he used the charm, but there was something almost endearing about the way the tree looked when it was lopsided.

“Even the Dursleys believed that?!” Ron questioned in disbelief, “So, an old fat bloke breaking into your home is believable, but magic is out of the question?” The question was really more for Ron’s own benefit than to be answered, because before either Harry or Hermione could try to explain the Muggle custom further, he pushed himself up off the couch with an affirmative statement that neither Harry or Hermione could argue: “Muggles are weird.”

Harry chuckled in response because the truth was, to an outsider, the tradition likely did seem incredible odd, but it was widely accepted across multiple continents by this point so perhaps not having Santa in your traditions could mean you were the odd one now. Harry and Hermione had been so eager to adopt the holidays and traditions of the wizarding world that the Muggle ones they had grown up with got put on a back burner over the years. And now he had a chance to start making memories with his godson and turn these holidays he had dreaded as a child into something more special. How could he say no? Especially to the big blue …(sometimes brown or green) eyes of the most adorable little five year old he had ever met. Harry turned around just in time to see Ron snag one more cookie off the tray that Hermione had set out on the table closest to the fireplace. “Hey, if you eat any more of those there won’t be any left for Teddy.”

“I think he’ll manage with three quarters of a plate,” Ron teased, shaking the chocolate chip cookie at Harry, and when his friend made a move to snatch it from him, Ron quickly shoved the whole thing into his mouth, back peddling closer to the fireplace which was crackling with a low flames.

“Ron, do be careful!” Hermione said quickly just before the redhead backed into the ottoman, and she lifted her vinewood wand from the table and pointed it at the ottoman to move it out of his path before he toppled over the furniture. “But Harry is right, I made those for Teddy tonight. We have to leave some out for--”

“For Santer. I remember,” Ron managed through his mouthful of cookie, which earned him a stern look from the curly haired witch on the floor. “I won’t eat any more, promise… but mainly because if I don’t leave now Tracey will be forced to talk to Tom while she waits for me at the Leaky and I don’t really want the cold shoulder during out first Yule together.”

“Can’t say I blame her, you’re about as punctual as a malfunctioning clock,” Hermione teased with a well-timed eye roll as she rose from the floor, her hands smoothing the wrinkles from the parcel she had just wrapped. She moved past Ron and Harry toward the newly decorated tree, laying the first present beneath the low hanging branches.

“And to think, I used to wonder why we never worked out…” Ron laughed, his lips pulling into a sly smirk before he gave a pointed glance in Harry’s direction and winked at the wizard. They all knew exactly why Ron and Hermione had ended their relationship for this final try, for it was no secret how utterly different they were. In all truth, it was absurd that they had even thought it a good idea to give them a try in the first place. The fact they had made it out of the multiple doomed attempts at a relationship without bursting any friendship between them to flames was nothing short of a miracle, something his sister happily pointed out to him as often as he would allow her.

When they did end things for the last time just before Valentine’s Day, Ron would have bet twenty Galleons on Harry finally making a move on Hermione. It had been no secret between the two friends that Harry had once held feelings for Hermione in their youth. When Ron had made his intentions known that he was going to pursue Hermione during the summer between sixth and seventh year, Harry happily stepped aside so Ron could have his chance with her, which was something he would be eternally grateful for. Now, years later it was more apparent than ever that there was simply never going to be anything beyond friendship between he and Hermione.

Ron suspected his friend still held a candle for her now, despite the reassurance that this was not the case. And although he could not be certain, because Hermione would absolutely never tell him if it was the case, he had a feeling she might return those feelings for Harry. Throughout the years they had become as thick as thieves, something that used to bother him, but time had been kind to Ron and shown him how not to be a jealous ass. And most importantly, it showed him that losing your friends over your pride was truly not an option. Of course, had he made that bet he would have been several Galleons lighter by this time, because it seemed that Harry and Hermione were no closer to addressing the proverbial Hippogriff in the room than they had been back at seventeen years old.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Hermione swatted at Ron’s chest as she moved over to him, leaning up to press a chaste kiss against the high of his cheek as her arms wound around his neck for a quick hug. “Tell Tracey and Ginny hello for me. And your Mum Happy Yule,” she instructed, waiting for a nod in confirmation from him before she let him go so he could fetch a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantel.

“Are you guys sure you don’t want to come? It won’t be the same without you there,” Ron questioned as a small bit of the green sand sprinkled onto the toe of his scuffed brown boots as it slipped between his fingers.

“No, we’ll be alright here. Teddy will be by in an hour or so. Besides, from what George said you guys will have a houseful this year. He mentioned your Mum managed to get Charlie to come home, something about ‘getting older and dying soon’,” Harry chuckled, knowing full well the depth of the mum-guilt Molly Weasley was all too quick to place upon her offspring. “Besides, I’ll pop over in a day or two… once Ginny and her newest conquest leave.” It wasn’t that he was afraid of running into his ex. On the contrary, he and Ginny had a perfectly civil relationship by now, but from past experience the Quidditch players she dated typically were not fond of Harry hanging around the Weasley homestead during the holidays. Especially since they were still friendly and enjoyed each other's company. The thing was, when Harry had finally decided to pull the plug on that relationship, Ginny was far from mad. In fact, she almost seemed relieved. They had just grown into different people. He was gone with work all the time, and she with Quidditch. Instead of growing up together, it seemed they managed to grow up apart. Under normal circumstances he would not let the opinion of some brawny Quidditch buffoon bother him, but this latest boyfriend was sticking around a bit longer than the rest, and he figured he ought to keep his appearances to a minimum, at least for now. Give the bloke a chance to be with his girlfriend without being in Harry’s shadow. Beyond that, Andromeda had personally invited Harry over for a Yule dinner. She had told him it would be nothing as extravagant as Molly usually made, but it was another chance for him to be with his godson. and part of him was looking forward to the quiet a small Yule would bring.

“Don’ remind me. Mum already owl’d all of us to remind us we needed to be nice. Like we would ever be anything but,” Ron scoffed before tossing the handful of powder into the fireplace and the red orange flames instantly blurst into an emerald green as they cracked loudly to let them know that the magic had taken over. With one final goodbye to each of them, Ron stepped into the flames and departed to the Leaky Cauldron to collect his girlfriend.

Harry had been slightly relieved when Ron arrived at Grimmauld Place earlier. He had just set the tree in the stand and was tidying up the fallen needles from the hardwood floor in preparation for Hermione’s arrival and was nearly bursting out of his skin with nervous energy, which was really quite silly considering the amount of time they had spent together over the years. She was no different than the girl he had met on the train so long ago, except now… now she was single. And he was single. And she was staying the night in his flat at his request--separate rooms, of course! And there was absolutely nothing stopping him from finally telling her how he felt about her, which meant he was perpetually on the verge of running away and/or puking since Ron had so graciously pointed out this fact approximately three days prior as a sort of afterthought as they did some final holiday shopping.

Since the war, the three of them had gone on to lead very different lives, despite always keeping in close contact. Ron had started with Harry as an Auror but left only three months after passing the exam to help George in the shop. Hermione was already on her way to becoming the youngest member of the Wizengamot to hold an elected seat, in addition to balancing politics with her work in the Department of Magical Creatures. And Harry, well, he was still on the street team, per his request. Still working to capture the last remaining Death Eaters who had gone into seclusion post war. Kingsley was pressuring him to move to desk duty so he might work up into management, but Harry was not quite ready to settle down into a slower pace. The fighting, the tracking, the duels. They all gave him a sense of closure on a gigantic chapter of his childhood. Although the older he got, the more the offer sounded appealing, he had to admit. Because with desk duty, it also meant he would get to spend his afternoons eating lunch with Hermione, as was tradition any time Harry was in the office.

Harry glanced over to Hermione, who had moved to the sofa to rearrange the small plate of cookies so they looked perfect for Teddy’s arrival, and his heart seemed to skip a beat. Hermione was no longer the bushy haired girl he had run the castle halls with what felt like a lifetime ago. Long gone were the days of knee socks, pleated skirts, and brewing forbidden potions in bathrooms. She was stunning, although to be fair Harry had found her appealing even back in their youth. “You know… I don’t think Teddy will mind if they’re not perfectly placed.”

Hermione glanced up, peering through her thick brown eyelashes at Harry. “I know… I just want it to look tidy, and…I don’t know….perfect for his first Muggle Christmas morning.”

Harry nodding, understanding that same feeling all too well. “You have literally cleaned every room since you’ve arrived, and although I cannot be certain, I think I heard you in Teddy’s room a minimum of three times arranging this,” Harry teased as he slipped his hands into his back pockets. He watched as Hermione stuck out her tongue at him in a childish return, her nose wrinkling, and his heart stuttered. Her doe eyes, the light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the way the firelight seemed to make her hair glow. It was all too much. He had to physically resist the urge to reach across the small space between them and pull her into his arms.  Instead, he laughed, the only semi-logical option at this point, and flashed her a toothy grin before he looked behind himself to the small pile of toys that they had left to wrap, hoping that maybe if he didn’t look at her for a moment his heart would return to a normal rhythm. “We...uh...should probably finish before he shows up… unless, of course, you’re keen on him having his gifts early.”

“And ruin the magic of Christmas morning? Absolutely not,” Hermione scoffed before straightening up, brushing her hands on the denim of her jeans to rid them of cookie crumbs. “This is your fault though...we would not be on such a tight timeline if you had just wrapped the gifts last week like I suggested.”

“Buuuuut you do it so much better than I do,” Harry’s voice held a singsong drawl as he moved over to the couch opposite of her spot on the floor from earlier by the coffee table, and he sat down with his elbows resting on his kneecaps. When all he earned in response to his joke was a hard look as Hermione moved back toward the coffee table, he feigned innocent. “Or… maybe I was a bit of a slacker.”

“I’m thinking the latter one,” Hermione remarked, kneeling down on the hard wooden floor in front of the coffee table. She unrolled the thick brown parchment over the cleared coffee table before she dragged her wand across the paper, using an altered severing charm to make a clean cut. “Hand me that one---no, no, that one,” she instructed, pointing toward the unwrapped gifts, and took the large box when Harry held it out for her. “What were you doing anyways? I know you were home.”

“Keeping tabs on me, Hermione?” Harry joked, leaning back on the couch as he watched her begin to wrap the gift with the finesse of someone who had done this job many times before. He could have wrapped the presents as instructed, but he knew it would never be up to par with her standards; beyond that, this gave him another reason to spend more time with her.

“Hardly,” Hermione scoffed as her cheeks tinted pink at his accusation. She was not keeping tabs on him, per se. She could not help it if the papers wrote about him still! She subscribed to the Daily to keep tabs on whether the reports were factual…and if she happened to stumble across an article on her best friend, she was obviously obligated to read it to make sure it too contained no errors, right? “You were in town this week, so one could deduce you had returned from whatever mission you were on last weekend.”

Emerald eyes were drawn to her flushing cheeks, and her brown eyes purposefully avoided his, paying careful attention to the brown parchment she was wrapping around a Muggle train set Harry had picked up in France. His heart swelled with a giddiness he had not felt since he was a teenager. She had been keeping tabs on him! His eyes dropped to the floor as he willed his heart to stop racing, silently reminding himself to play it cool and not confess his ulterior motives to her. “Well… It’s like I said. You’re better at this sort of stuff than I am.”

“Then what _are_ you good at, Harry?” Hermione challenged, glancing up as she tapped the last flap shut.

“I’ve been told I’m an excellent cook, a really great best friend… umm...” Harry pursed his lips in quiet thought and he reached up to tap his finger against his chin, which earned him a quiet laugh from the witch across from him. “...an excellent snog.” The last descriptor was mumbled, in a voice he was certain would have been too quiet for her to hear. It had been a playful thought that crossed his mind. Under other circumstances he would not have hesitated to poke fun at the countless stories about his supposed sexual prowess that the magazines published, but since it was just the two of them, both hopelessly single in a small warm room with mugs of finished mulled wine sitting on the sofa table where they sat, the implication felt far too forward and he instantly regretted it.

“An excellent snog?” Hermione squeaked, her voice ticking up an octave in surprise as her eyebrows rose. Her hands froze mid-air with the ribbon hanging limply betwixt her fingers as she lifted her eyes to find Harry's once more. No. She had to have misheard him, right? That’s not what he said.

“I was joking,” Harry rushed to say, his eyes widening infinitesimally, as if realising the potential grave error he had just made. “Because… you know. The...articles...the uh...witches...” Circe, Harry, what the bloody hell were you thinking? You invite a witch over, have a plan to express how you’ve been utterly smitten with her since sixth year, but instead choose to bring up how women make (false) claims about your snogging abilities. Real bloody smooth.

Hermione gulped, looking down at the nearly perfectly wrapped present on the table in front of her. “Right… the articles,” she replied with a small laugh, hastily tying the green ribbon in a bow before she placed the perfectly wrapped present on the ground next to her.

“They’re lies, you know?” Harry hastily explained, feeling the need to further clarify his poorly timed joke. But it seemed he was only managing to make himself look like more of a dunderhead than before.

“You’re not...an excellent snog then?” Hermione replied back, her lips pursing together as she tried to contain her own laughter.

“What?” Harry blushed a deep crimson, “Merlin, no...I mean, I don’t know! What I meant to say was--” Reaching up, his hand moved to adjust his thick-framed glasses higher up his nose, hoping to conceal the slight tremble in his hand. “--they never kissed me…so they would never know if I am...an excellent snog.”

“Harry, are you feeling alright? You seem off...maybe even a bit tense,” Hermione questioned, glancing up to her friend. Big brown doe eyes twinkled in the soft light of the room at him as her head cocked ever so slightly to the side, laughter dancing across her face.

Tense? That was quite the word to describe the tightly wound coil that had settled in Harry’s gut the moment she walked through his front door with her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She had worn the jumper--his favorite fucking jumper. It was cream with mulberry trim and as soft a red rose petals. He could not help but admire the way it complimented her coloring and made her eyes pop. And, of course, she had paired it with a pair of black jeans that hugged her just so. She had no idea what she was doing to him by simply just being… well. Herself. So was he off? Sure. Tense? Abso-fucking-lutely, but that didn’t seem like it was going to change anytime soon, at least not within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. “Yeah… sorry. I think it’s just the holidays...I always feel a little off this time of the year,” Harry explained, looking down to his hands in his lap before back up to her once more with a small smile and crimson blush on his cheeks.

“I know what you mean… We can commiserate together later once Teddy’s in bed.” Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile before raising up on her knees and she pointed to the next gift to be wrapped. “That one next, please,” she instructed Harry as her hands went to the bottom of her jumper, curling around the hem of the soft fabric and she began to tug up. “It’s a bit warm in here, isn’t it? I forgot how quickly Grimmauld Place heats up in winter… I swear it must be some sort of enchantment.”

Harry could feel a large lump forming in the base of his throat as he watched the jumper lift slowly, peeling away from her shapely hips, and her head disappeared as she lifted the fabric higher and higher. Underneath he could see a white camisole that was worn, but it appeared the garment had other ideas in mind than staying in place. Clinging to her jumper, the white camisole began to lift, first exposing the buckle to her pants, and it began to inch upwards. The sunkissed skin of her stomach came into view first, causing Harry’s breath to catch as he internally debated if he should tell her… I mean he really ought to...but…

His eyes moved in time with her movement, watching as her belly button came into view. Small, round… perfect. Just like everything else about her. When the camisole made no attempt at releasing its hold on the jumper, he could not help but feel the tiniest bit guilty he was watching… until, of course, the cups of her bra came into view. Harry wasn’t sure if the garment could even qualify as a bra! It was...lacy, and barely there. He could see the outline of her pink nipples through the sheer gray fabric and his mouth instantly went dry. His wide eyes froze, watching as the sensitive skin began to pucker as it was exposed to the hot air in the room. “I...Hermione I-I…I’m just going to pop into the kitchen!” Harry’s voice cracked, reminiscent of when he was a prepubescent boy, and he averted his eyes from the glorious sight of his best friend's breasts as he rose from the couch, his shins knocking against the table and sending it right into Hermione’s midsection. “S-Sorry! I-I’ll get us some refills on the wine...Uh…and maybe open a window. It is a bit warm.”

He did not bother to wait for a reply as he gathered the empty glassware from the table and darted from the room, socked feet sliding along the waxed hallway floor as he moved down the set of stairs that led to the kitchen. His heart thundered beneath his chest. He was twenty-three years old, far from a teenage boy, yet here he was, literally fleeing the scene after seeing an accidental flash of Hermione’s undergarments. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

* * *

 

Hermione’s hands tugged down the bottom of her camisole after she let her jumper fall to the floor. With him suddenly fleeing from the room, coupled with the fact that Ron had been there when she arrived earlier in the evening, she was beginning to doubt the confidence she felt before arriving there. She had been almost certain his invitation to stay with him was more than just him being friendly. Over the past several weeks she could not help but notice every time he placed his hand on her during lunch, or the way he would often find the small of her back when he would escort her through the Ministry. The touches, although not unwelcome, were far from necessary. Even Willa, her secretary, had asked if there was something brewing between her and Harry! Then there was the way he would look at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. A smoldering heat to his gaze that sent a jolt of energy straight from her heart to her core, and made her mouth instantly dry. Which might explain the seemingly strange behavior leading up to this point, but here she was. Finally alone with him in his home, and Harry had yet to even try to make a move on her.

Hermione looked up to the small pile of gifts left to wrap and with a heavy sigh she quickly sliced her wand through the air before adding a flourish to the wrist movement and directing the end of her wand to the brown parchment. One by one the gifts floated up, creating a small queue in the air as they waited to be magically wrapped and decorated. Pushing off the floor, she picked up her discarded jumper and set it on the back of the couch before placing the gifts one by one underneath the newly decorated Christmas tree while thoughts of doubt swirled in her mind.

Perhaps she made it up? What if she had thought these gestures were more than they were and Harry was simply being friendly? Three weeks ago she had been set on spending this Christmas alone in her flat. With no parents, no boyfriend, or anywhere to be, she had long come to terms with being alone on Christmas for the first time ever. She had planned to make the most of it and enjoy the holiday with a specially selected bottle of red wine, baked chicken and some green beans. She had even picked up a small treat for Crookshanks: Niffler liver--his favorite. Nothing extravagant and just the way she had come to prefer her time. Of course, when Harry had heard of her holiday plans over a plate of cold chips and pints of ale post-work at the Leaky, he about fell off the barstool in his hurry to invite her with him to Andromeda’s.

At first she declined, knowing that this was Harry’s first time having his godson spend the night on Christmas Eve and the start of some timeless traditions Harry hoped to make with the boy. She couldn’t just insert herself in that. She had heard for weeks leading up to his invite that this was something he was looking forward to, but he simply would not take no for an answer. Of course, when he had pointed out that, “you might as well be his godmum anyways with how often you visit him. He should have both of us there… godmum and goddad,” she almost spilled off her own barstool with the weight of his words. Her heart had been soaring and her head was lost in the clouds, because she had happily accepted.

Of course, now she thought it silly, because maybe it had all been in her head. Maybe she was projecting whatever feelings she had for him into their friendship and he felt as much for her as he might about any other witch on the street. Hermione let the doubt cloud her thoughts for a moment, allowing herself to be disappointed in her own childish hopes while Harry was out of the room. When the sound of his footsteps thumping along the staircase once more rumbled into the room, letting her know he was coming back, she pushed the feelings down and smiled at him when he walked into the living room with their glasses, full of the mulled wine she had made earlier on the stovetop.

“Already done?” Harry questioned in surprise as he looked under the tree. “Gave up on the Muggle way?” he teased, slowly setting the glasses of wine on the coffee table before he grabbed a throw pillow from off the corner of the couch and tossed it on an armchair across the room before he took his normal spot on the furniture.

“Didn’t want them to pop by early and ruin the surprise,” Hermione explained as she reached up to tuck her curls behind her ear. “Did you need to heat it up or was it warm still? I used a stasis charm but I’m not certain how long it will hold temperature,” Hermione questioned as she made her way across the room, and she plucked her glass from the table before moving to the opposite edge of the couch from Harry.

“It’s not as warm as earlier, but I think it’s fine,” Harry explained, leaning over to pick up his own glass and take a small sip. The warmed wine was more delicious than he remembered. He had not had mulled wine since he was living with the Dursleys, as it had been one of his aunt’s favorite holiday drinks. When Hermione had told him she was going to make them a batch, he almost told her not to, thinking the smell might bring up some bad memories, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

Hermione nodded in agreement, letting the spiced liquid dance across her tongue as she took another sip before setting the glass down behind her on the table. They sat in silence for a moment; the air lingering between them felt thick with unspoken words. Hermione had tried to start a sentence several times, but each moment she opened her mouth it seemed utterly wrong. “What time did you say Andromeda would be by with Teddy?” she questioned, glancing over to Harry. Of course, she knew exactly what time the tot was supposed to show up, but she was trying to fill the empty words between them with something other than awkward silence.

Harry looked up from where he had been watching the warmed wine swirl in his glass and over to the mantle where a large clock ticked quietly. “Uh… within the hour. Andi is trying to have him here before six so we can do dinner and bath before bed… She still had to prepare the feast for tomorrow and do some last minute shopping. Kind of hard to surprise him with gifts when he’s nipping at her heels all the time,” Harry laughed, glancing across the couch to Hermione.

“Oh good! I have time,” she said before standing once more. “Don’t go anywhere. I wanted to give you your gift before Teddy arrives,” she explained, handing him her drink as she passed in front of him, their legs brushing, and she disappeared from the room, running upstairs to fetch the gift from her overnight bag.

“Hermione, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he called out into the house as he listened to her footsteps run across the second floor toward the guest bedroom he had prepared for her. Leaning over, he set both glasses of wine on the table before he settled back further into the couch. “I don’t really need another broomstick servicing kit, ya know. I _can_ buy my own.”

“Harry James Potter, if you are going to complain about my gifts, I will just stop getting you anything,” Hermione scolded as she walked back into the room with a small red package in her right hand.

“No, no no!” Harry back peddled quickly with laughter lining his words, “I’m sorry.”

“And…?” She passed in front of him again as she moved to the couch, this time sitting with her back against the arm of the couch and her socked feet rested next to his thigh. The red box was still held in her grasp, not yet ready to hand it over until a proper apology was given.

“And I swear I’ll never complain about one of your gifts ever again,” he added as he reached out to snag the box from her hand. She pulled back, brows lifting in a silent request for continuation. “And you’re...the best?”

“Thank you. You’re too kind,” Hermione smirked, allowing him to snag the small box from her hands, and she leaned back against the arm of the couch, smiling nervously as she watched him handle the box that was far too small to be the typical gift she gave him.

Harry shook the box lightly, listening to see if the contents inside rattled, but when no noise was given his brow furrowed and he glanced over to the witch. What on earth had she gotten him? “Should I be cautious opening this? It’s not from George and Ron’s shop, is it?”

Hermione’s brown eyes rolled at his question and she shook her head. “Just open it already!”

“Alright, alright!” Harry looked at the unassuming box. It was no wider than the palm of his hand, and sat about three inches high. He made quick work of the beautiful green bow that held the lid shut and he tossed it onto the coffee table before the lid followed. Harry’s brow wrinkled further as he looked inside. He had...seen this somewhere before, he knew it was familiar but…

Hermione lifted her hand to hide her smile as she watch him carefully empty the box into his other hand, watching as he turned the old watch over in his hand, his fingers moving to touch the old engraved metal. “It was my father’s,” she explained, leaning forward so she could wrap her arms around her shins and rest her chin on her kneecaps. “Before you say you can’t accept it, you have to… mainly because it’s rude not to, but…” Her brown eyes took on an almost far away look as she watched his thumb slide across the soft brown leather band. “I don’t have much left to remember them by. Some jewelry...a couple old photographs… but that watch…my father wore that watch almost every day when I was a child. It doesn’t feel right, letting it sit in box in my bedroom, and you’re really the only sort of family I have left anyways. It seems right that it should go to you. When you mentioned breaking your last one on that mission in Aruba I knew this would be the perfect gift… But maybe don’t take this one on missions with you.”

Harry couldn’t look at her, not yet. His eyes were glued to the watch’s face. Watching as the thin black hand ticked around the face, underneath a beautiful sapphire blue background that reminded him of the spring skies from their youth. Merlin...he couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was thinking, gifting him something so fucking personal to her. She had been off and on with Ron for nearly four years and never once gave him something with so much meaning! “Hermione...I can’t accept this.”

“Harry, you can’t give it back. I already told you.”

“But--”

“Absolutely not. It’s a gift. Besides, he would have wanted you to have it anyways...To say thanks for looking out for me after all these years. He always did like you best,” she informed him playfully. “Now put it on. I got the band resized but I had to guess on the length. I want to make sure it fits.”

Harry paused, still unsure if he should accept, and Hermione seemed to sense his reluctance to accept the gift. She moved across the couch until her knees hit the outside of his thigh, and she sat back on her heels, nimble fingers sliding the watch from his hand as she undid the buttoned cuff on his flannel to expose his left wrist. “Harry. I want you to have this… He would have wanted you do have it to if he could remember,” she reiterated as she latched the watch around his wrist, brown eyes drifting up to find his.

Harry’s voice was lost, his mind losing all ability to make any sort of noise as he watched her, gulping to try and dislodge the lump in his throat that was obviously preventing him from saying anything in the moment. She looked so...happy. Her smile reached her eyes, the soft glow of the firelight making her curls look like they held strands of gold, and of course, what truly made it difficult was the distance between them. She was inches away, her hands still holding onto his forearm as they looked at one another. Harry could not remember the last time he had seen Hermione this happy. Sure, between the end of the war and the present there were moments she had been happy: twirling around the ballroom at the Ministry Galas, sitting smooshed between him and Ron at the Hogwarts annual alumni Quidditch showcase, or even the last time he had given her an old book he had wandered across in his travels, but not like this. It had been ages since he had seen her smile reach her eyes and suddenly it was as if the rest of the world didn’t matter, because in this moment all he could think about was how all he wanted to do was spend the rest of his existence on earth making her look just like this.

His free hand rose in time with his body as he twisted to face her, and before he could talk himself out of doing something so bold, his lips met hers. His hand cupped her cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing against the thick curls that framed her face as he pulled her toward him, his other hand moving to capture one of hers in a soft hold. The logical half of his brain was sounding the alarm bells, telling him how utter fucked he was because he just kissed his damn friend of thirteen years. Beyond that, he had not even gotten confirmation that she reciprocated his feelings! But the other side of his brain, the impulsive one that had often gotten him in trouble, howled at the moon with a devilish pride that he had finally gotten the courage to do just this.

Hermione’s heart felt as if it had skipped two beats, and her brain backfired. If she were in a cartoon she was sure that there would be small streams of smoke erupting from her ears because her face felt exceptionally hot as a deep crimson blush blossomed over her cheeks. This was exactly what she had been hoping for since receiving his invitation, and now here it was, quite literally smacking her in the face, and all she could do was freeze and try to allow her brain to catch up to what was happening in front of her.

When Hermione made no move to kiss him more, nor do anything beyond make a small squeak in surprise when he first pressed his lips against her, a heavy reality crashed down around Harry and he pulled back, emerald eyes darting between Hermione’s with rising uncertainty. Oh...bollocks. He had really mucked it up this time, hadn’t he? “I...I…” he began, stumbling to get the right words out as color rushed into his cheeks, and he let go of her cheek and hand to slide his hands through his unruly black locks nervously. “Hermione I’m so sorry...I...I--”

Sorry? He was… sorry? Hermione gulped in confusion, her mouth opening to silence his hurried apology, but when she simply could not get a word in edgewise, she knew what she needed to do. Reaching out, her hand curled around the center of his button-down and she pulled him towards her in one smooth motion as she brought him in for a kiss. This time, her eyes closed and her lips moved against his as she slid her other hand through the side of his hair.

Harry was no legilimens, despite Dumbledore and Snape’s best efforts, but he was fairly certain what this meant. His hands dropped to her waist, carefully guiding her over his legs until she sat straddling his waist and he settled back over the couch. Kissing Hermione should have felt odd. Anytime he had snogged someone new he had always found it awkward in the beginning. Teeth clashing, the hurriedness of something new, but this felt… right. Like they both had been waiting for this exact moment for ages and everything prior was just practice. His tongue swept across her bottom lip as his head tilted to the side, silently asking for her to part her lips and allow him to deepen the kiss, something Hermione was more than happy to obliged to.

Every molecule of his heat sunk through her skin to warm her bones as they kissed, his hands holding her hips firmly in place on his lap, not daring to tug her closer to seat herself in the natural position that locked her hips in with his. It wasn’t until he felt a small tug against his shirt that he released his hold on her waist and Hermione scooted down his thighs until her body was flush against his. His heart beat so hard that he was certain she could feel it rattle her chest as she wound her arms around his neck, her fingers carding through his hair as their tongues brushed against one another.

Harry broke the kiss, his mouth running a hot trail of kisses down her delicate jaw and across the column of her neck as his fingers danced at the hem of her camisole, waiting for any sign that she might want him to stop.

Hermione shivered as his mouth ran across her pulse point, and his name was whimpered as she felt his teeth graze her skin. Her fingers curled in his hair, short nails scraping lightly at his scalp as she rocked her hips against his, feeling the evidence of his desire for her through their jeans. Hermione would never consider herself a weak person, but for the first time in her life it felt so fucking good not to be in control of what was happening. Just allowing them to follow the most basic primal instinct and give in to whatever had been building between them.

Harry’s right hand moved slowly; the rough pads of his fingertips touched her skin first and he let out a shaky breath against her throat. She was soft, more than he had thought, and while the skin on her neck tasted divine, he wondered if perhaps she might taste better elsewhere. He knew they did not have the time for him to explore every inch of her body, like he wanted to, but damn if his mind didn’t wander with the possibilities. Slowly, making sure to drag his wide spread palm across her skin, Harry moved his hand over the curve of her ribcage and around until his fingers brushed against the swell of her breast through the lacy gray bra he had seen moments ago. He felt Hermione keen in his arms, her back arching to press more of her breast into his palm as he cupped her breast, testing the weight of it in his hand as the pad of his thumb dragged across the soft fabric in search of her nipple.

Just as his name tumbled from her lips, his own personal form of encouragement he was sure men would wage wars over if given the chance, the sound of his Floo activating stilled both of them. Harry’s brows pinched together as he tried to remember why he had even allowed access in the first place, the synapses of his brain misfiring, but before he could ponder the thought further Hermione quickly pushed herself out of his lap. Blinking, Harry looked up to her, confused, until the rest of the room came into view. The tree, the presents, and the plate of cookies. Fuck! Teddy! Harry stood quickly, his hands smoothing down the wrinkles in his flannel, rethreading some of the buttons that had come undone in their kiss, and he quickly reached into his pocket to adjust his growing problem in his trousers. “S-shit.”

Hermione lunged for her jumper and frantically pulled it on as she walked away from Harry. They needed space, right? Perhaps if there was plenty of space between them Andromeda might not notice the kiss-swollen lips, the messed up hair or the practically electric-charged air that filled the small living room. Her head shot up at Harry’s swear, and she watched as he adjusted his tenting jeans, wincing slightly at the adjustment, and a small blush crept across her cheeks as an odd sense of pride swelled through her. She had caused that...she...Hermione Granger, the insufferable swot, had made him lust after her. She couldn’t believe it, because despite having matured so much since Hogwarts, part of her still felt like Harry might not truly ever be interested in her because she would always be that girl to him.

The roar of the fire grew, and green flames licked at the top of the high mantle as the image of an older woman and a small child appeared instantly in the fireplace. Stepping through the flame and onto the hearth, Andromeda released her grandson’s shoulders and laughed as the wild boy instantly darted across the room towards Harry.

“Uncle!!” Teddy shouted, blue eyes wide with excitement. His hair was golden blonde today, and thick with curls that flounced with each hurried step he took towards his most favorite uncle. Throwing his arms in the air once he got close enough, Teddy bounced with excitement and jumped straight into his uncle’s arms with no fear, thin little arms wrapping around Harry as best they could. “I get to spend the night!!”

“Teddy, Uncle Harry knows,” Andromeda reminded the overly excited five year old as she brushed soot from her blouse. When Hermione and Harry had first met the witch, both of them had been quite shocked at how much she looked like her older sister. She and Bellatrix shared far more physical characteristics than not, but as time had passed and more time was spent with her it became more and more apparent just how different she was. And how far uglier Bellatrix had been, on the inside and out. Andromeda had shoulder-length light brown hair that fell in curly waves reminiscent of her elder sisters, and soft wide eyes so blue that it was easy to see why the young boy in Harry’s arms often mimicked them.

Stepping further into Grimmauld Place, Andromeda looked around the decorated room, a small smile curving on her painted lips as the warmth of Christmas seeped into her. When Hermione came into view, she could not help but notice the almost disheveled appearance of the normally well put together witch. Messy hair, jumper askew, and cheeks still flush. Her eyes snapped back to Harry, watching as he lifted her grandson further up into his arms, enveloping the small child in a big bear hug. He too bore the same appearance. (Although to be fair, Harry’s hair always appeared unkempt.) Slowly the puzzle pieces in the room seemed to snap together in her mind, and a slow knowing smirk replaced the warm grin she bore seconds earlier as she turned back to Hermione, reaching out to place a single hand on the witch’s on the shoulder so she could pull her attention away from the adorable scene of Harry greeting his godson. “Hullo, Hermione dear. It’s so nice to see you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I am writing this FanFiction for fun, no profit is made off the use of these characters.
> 
> Additionally, there are direct lines from 'The Polar Express' by Chris Van Allsburg and those are (obviously) not of my own creation, but rather leveraged to help tell this story because of the fondless I hold for the book and how it impacted my childhood. <3 If you have not read the book, I highly encourage you buy a copy this holiday season and read it!

“The conductor helped me down from the sleigh, Santa shouted out the reindeer’s names and cracked his whip. His team charged forward and climbed into the air. Santa circled once above us, then disappeared into the cold, dark polar sky.” Hermione’s soft dulcet voice carried down the hallway to where Harry stood in the kitchen. He had taken over cleaning the dishes and tidying the kitchen after their supper, insisting that since she had cooked she did not need to clean. It had only taken Teddy batting his oversized blue eyes at her for her to agree and wander off into the house with the five year old to play Legos with him. It had only been three hours since Andi dropped off Teddy, and yet it felt like an eternity. Not a word was spoken about their kiss, but the tension in the air between them seemed palpable. Harry wasn’t sure, but he would bet 10 Galleons even Andi had noticed, as she had offered to take Teddy home in case Hermione and he were ‘too busy’. Which was only slightly mortifying considering he had to discreetly adjust his jeans so his erection was not noticeable.

Since neither of them had dared to utter a single world about what had occurred, Harry had spent the entire time washing the dishes (by hand!) internally debating with himself how best to bring it up once Teddy was asleep. Every scenario he ran through in his mind always resulted with him looking like a total and utter dunce, which was doing his ego huge favors. After seasoning his cast iron, he set the heavy pan on his stove and quickly washed his hands before putting on a brave face and  venturing up the stairs from the kitchen towards the living room. He quietly listened to Teddy interrupt the story with a question, which knew to be about the thirtieth interruption since the beginning of the book.

“...As soon as we were back inside the Polar Express, the other children asked to see the bell. I reached into my pocket, but the only thing I felt was a hole--”

Teddy’s gasp cut off her words, wide blue eyes staring at the picture spread between the two pages of the book. “Auntie ‘Mione! He lost his bell!”

“It seems so.”

“But will he get it back?”

“How about we keep reading and find out?”

Harry moved down the hallway, careful to muffle his footsteps as best he could but avoiding the spots he knew the floor would squeak. His hands were hidden beneath a faded off-white tea towel that had once held a bright image of Rome. Molly had picked up the set of towels three years prior on a vacation with Arthur, and while all their children got little knick knacks gifted to them, Harry was handed a package of towels. At the time he couldn’t help but find it slightly odd, but clearly the witch knew him better than he had thought because it had been an item he seemed to be lacking since moving into Grimmauld Place.

Once his hands were dry, he carefully draped the towel over his right shoulder as he moved into the entryway to the living room. Hermione was sitting on the sofa, her feet up on the edge of the coffee table and a pair of fuzzy light blue socks hiding her feet. The book rested on her thighs, propped open for them to enjoy, and the freshly bathed five year old was tucked under the safety of her arm like a small baby bird, snuggled into her side as he looked at the pictures before him.

Harry’s heart soared; the butterflies he was certain would have gone away by now seemed to rile up in his stomach, fluttering all the way into his throat. Some primal part of him was enjoying this picture. The girl he fancied, snuggled up with a child that Harry unknowingly considered his own. It fed a desire he was not even aware he held, and as much as it should scare him, he wanted to run head first towards it.

“...When I’d shaken the bell, my parents had not heard a sound.” Large brown eyes traveled over the printed words on the page, before she glanced down to Teddy tucked up next to her, studying the image of the little boy in blue lined pajamas on the page. When she began visiting Teddy years ago with Harry, she would have never thought she would develop this sort of relationship with the rambunctious tot, but here she was, passing down her love of the written word to a bright little boy who seemed to have as much of his father’s cleverness as he did his mother’s looks.

Nimble fingers carefully turned to the last page once she was certain he had studied each detail of the illustration carefully. Her right hand let go of the back of the book, letting it lean against her thighs and she wrapped her arm around Teddy, pulling the tot close in a soft snuggle as she read the last of the book to him, a smile pulling up at the corners of her mouth at the finish. It was just then, as she shut the book, that the sound of Harry clearing his throat from the entrance to the room broke the spell the favored childhood book held over the room.

“As much as I hate to interrupt, it is time for bed,” Harry announced, Lifting his hand he gestured across the room to the ancient looking grandfather clock he had inherited from Sirius.

Teddy’s little face instantly morphed from curious to disappointed, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought. “But Uncle Harry!” he whined. Golden hair began to change to a honey brown similar to Hermione’s, bleeding from the root down. “Auntie said one more story.”

Hermione clucked her tongue at the metamorphmagus beneath her arm, brows lifting in shock as she looked down at him. “Excuse me, mister,” Hermione began as she set the book next to her on the couch before reaching over to playfully tickle under his arms. “I said no such thing.”

Teddy tucked his arms against his ribs tightly, childish laughter filling the room as he squealed in delight. “NooO!!! Don’t tickle!” he crowed, twisting to evade her wily fingers. “Auntie! Stooop!”

“Then tell your uncle the truth,” Hermione finally relented, ceasing her merciless tickles.

“Ooookay….she didn’t,” Teddy admitted through breathless laughter, glancing between his two favored family members. “But you do tell me to read, Auntie. I was only trying to listen.”

Harry chuckled, staying silent as he watched the curly haired witch's resolve begin to crack. Teddy knew just the way to get her to play into his master plan of staying up late, telling her it was for the sake of his education. Harry could clearly remember doing similar things to get her to agree to some of the more adventurous things in his youth. Just as Hermione leaned over to pick ‘one last book’ from the hand selected pile of Christmas books she had brought, Harry knew he needed to speak up or they would be be here for several more hours with an overly tired five year old. And more importantly, they would waste any opportunity they might have at actually discussing what that kiss  meant…and the possibility of revisiting it.

“Well, another story does sound great,” Harry began as he moved into the room, pulling the tea towel from his shoulder, and he tossed it onto the coffee table before he sat down across from Teddy on the wooden piece of furniture, his hip brushing against Hermione’s feet. “But Santa won’t visit unless you’re in bed… So if you don’t want presents in the morning---”

Before Harry could even finish the little boy shoved out from Hermione’s arm and scrambled off of the couch, his footie pajamas slipping on the hardwood floor, but he managed to stay upright in his mad dash towards the entrance his uncle had walked through.

Hermione dropped her feet, craning her neck to watch him safety make it to the bottom of the staircase in the hallway before snorting with laughter. “Teeth, Teddy! Brush your teeth!” she reminded him before turning to look at Harry with a wide grin. “You’re good. I’ve been trying to get him to his bed for the past forty-five minutes.”

Harry shrugged sheepishly before reaching up to ruffle the thick black hair on the back of his head. “Practice…that, and not giving in every time he bats his eyelashes at me helps.”

Hermione reached over to smack at Harry’s thigh playfully before she rose from the couch. “I do not do that!” Hermione defended, drawing her wand from her pocket and with a quick spell the stack of books she had brought began to tuck themselves away in a small canvas tote that lay on the floor next to the Christmas tree.

“B-But Auntie,” Harry mimicked his godson as best he could, wobbling his bottom lip just slightly as he batted his eyes at the witch who only rolled her eyes.

“Oh shut it,” Hermione scolded, her hands going to her hips as she gave Harry an unamused expression. She knew he was right, she was absolutely wrapped around that little boy’s finger, but she would never admit it. Least not now when it would prove his point. When she watched Harry dissolve into his quiet laughter on the coffee table, she lifted her wand, pointing it to a throw pillow on the couch, and with a soft mutter of the enchantment and a flick of her wrist, the pillow launched itself at the side of her friend’s head, knocking his glasses askew on his face.

Before any retaliation could occur, Hermione double stepped out of the room, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter as she ran up the stairs toward the bedroom she knew Teddy would have ran to once he’d brushed his teeth.

When Harry began remodeling Grimmauld Place and turning the once decaying building into a home, the very first room he had chosen to focus on was the guest room--or rather Teddy’s. It had been the very same room Remus had used during the war, and thus Harry felt that it belonged to his son. It took him nearly a week to make sure it was perfect, but when it was finally done, he knew the boy would love it. The walls were painted a soft shade of green, and photos of the boy’s parents were hung with care on the walls beside magicked posters of trains whose white smoke billowed from their chimneys as they chugged along.

At the time of the remodel, Teddy had been obsessed with trains. Of course, Teddy’s preferences had changed by now. Trains had taken a back seat to Quidditch and dragons, but the young boy did not seem to mind the decor.

After straightening his frames on his face, Harry moved after Hermione, a large dopey grin smeared across his face as he climbed the stairs two at a time and took a sharp right at the top of the stairs before moving to the opened doorway where soft bedroom light spilled out.

Hermione was next to Teddy’s nightstand, her wand tapping on a small snow globe that sat atop the furniture, changing the ambient glow inside the object until it moved to a rainbow effect. Slowly changing colors, beginning with a warm burst of red.

“Uncle Harry!” Teddy said excitedly from where he already lay in bed, his covers tucked nearly up to his chin. Beside him poking out from beneath the covers was the ragged head of a stuffed black dog that had been his most loyal companion since age one. “Will you wake me after Santa comes?”

“But I will be asleep too.” Harry moved across the room to sit on the side of the small twin bed next to the boy. “Santa won’t leave my presents if I’m awake.”

“Ooooh… Or Auntie ‘Mione’s?” the young boy questioned, a look of curious understanding blossoming across his small features.

“Or Auntie ‘Mione’s,” Harry confirmed, glancing across the room towards Hermione who was now lingering at the door, watching the two of them. Even now, just in a pair of faded jeans and a black camisole, Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so beautiful. The rainbowed colors emanating from the magicked snowglobe danced across her features, exposing the raw beauty she possessed. Harry cleared his throat, looking away from the witch and back down to his godson. “Now, you better hurry and get to sleep. As soon as the morning comes you can come wake us up and see what Santa left for you.”

Leaning down, Harry pressed a soft kiss against Teddy’s forehead and his hand rose to pet down his soft brown hair. “Goodnight Teddy,” he whispered softly against his skin. Before he could pull further away, the boy wiggled the head of the black stuffed dog as a reminder and Harry leaned over the boy and kissed the top of the ragged stuffed animal. “Goodnight Snuffles.” He’d always felt silly kissing the toy, but obliged every time because he knew it made his godson happy.

Hermione flicked the light switch, and soon the room was only filled with the glow from the snowglobe, and just as Harry exited the room and she began to shut the door after him, Teddy called out for Hermione.

“Auntie!”

“Yes, Love?” Hermione moved the door open just enough for her head to pop through as she peered through the darkness to him.

“More kisses?” the boy questioned softly.

“More?” Hermione laughed, biting her bottom lip. “How many more?”

“Uhh….Six,” Teddy responded decidedly, “and Snuffles needs two more too.”

 Hermione chuckled before she glanced over to Harry who, despite Teddy’s soft question, heard it all and simply batted his eyes at her like he had done downstairs moments ago. Shaking her head to her friend, she opened the door and moved to the side of his bed where she knelt down to pepper the side of his face with multiple kisses, counting each one out before it was planted. “One...two….three….four...five...six!”

Teddy ate it up, happily accepting each kiss before holding up the black dog, and when his auntie pressed two kisses on the end of its snout, he tucked it back under the blanket, rolling on his side as he nuzzled into the blankets.

Hermione pushed up from the floor, her fingers smoothing the soft brown hair on the top of his head before she leaned in to press one final goodnight kiss on the crown of his head before she slipped from the room and shut the door behind her with a soft snap.

Harry was leaning against the wall opposite of Teddy’s door,  his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans where his fingers picked nervously at the seams of his pockets. As much as he had wanted to get Teddy to bed so they could finally address what had happened earlier, part of him was absolutely dreading actually having the conversation. He knew it was stupid, because this was Hermione. His best friend for ages, but… now was she more? Or would she be? It felt like fifth year with Cho Chang all over again, except this time he was an adult and the possibility of doing more than just a snog under a mistletoe lingered in the back of his mind.

Hermione’s eyes drifted from Harry before down to the wooden floor beneath her feet as she struggled to find the words. Moments ago it was so easy to joke, and play with him, but now that the focus of the past three hours was safely tucked away in bed with promises of Santa and presents to come, and the spot light was turned on them, she felt timid. “So…” 

“I...uh...I should probably go pull out his gifts from Santa,” Harry piped up, lifting his right hand to jut his thumb towards the staircase behind him.

Hermione looked up, unable to hide the crestfallen expression from coloring her features. Right, act like it didn't happen. That was the route Harry was going to take. “Oh right...I suppose I’ll go pop in the shower,” Hermione replied, glancing behind her down the hallway to the guest bathroom before back to Harry. “Teddy will likely have us up at the crack of dawn and I don’t think I’ll have a chance in the morning.”

“Yeah. Smart,” Harry agreed, his hand going up to ruffle his hair on the back of his head nervously, watching as Hermione began to back up down the hallway, her brown eyes lingering on his before she turned around. He needed to say something. He needed to tell her how he felt. How that kiss wasn’t a mistake, or an accident! He needed to tell her that he had fancied her since Hogwarts and how he wanted them to have a proper go at trying to date, and that Ron had even given him his blessing (even though he was certain Hermione would scoff at the idea and tell him that it wasn’t up to Ronald).

Harry’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to find the right words, thankful that her back was to him so she missed his goldfish impression. It was when her hand was on the doorknob to the bathroom door, he finally found his voice. “Mione!” he yelled, a bit louder than intended. “Shit uh... Hermione.”

“Yeah?” Her heart lurched and she glanced over to him, her hand pulling back from the doorknob quickly.

“Thank you--” Harry began, taking a nervous step towards her. “--for staying here tonight… with Teddy and I.”

“O-Of course…No problem.”

“Would you…um maybe want to… I mean after your shower...want to sit in the parlour with me?” Harry stumbled over his words, his hands sliding into the back pockets of his jeans as he took another step towards her to keep his voice down as to not disturb Teddy.

“Sit in the parlour?” Hermione repeated, her brows lifting quizzically. What year was it? Better yet, who the heck was Harry pretending to be? Sit in the parlor? She was his bloody best friend, and they had just snogged on the couch a couple hours ago! What the blood hell was he playing at?

“Yeah...you know the room...downstairs with the record player and uh--” fuck, this wasn’t going well was it? “--the chairs…”

Hermione nodded slowly, refraining from reminding him that she was familiar with where the bloody parlor was. “Uh huh…”

“I was thinking we could listen to music...or you know… maybe talk?” His voice lifted in question as the lump that had began to build in his throat seemed to solidify, causing his voice to quiver.

Hermione pursed her lips together to prevent herself from laughing at how utterly silly this was. This was Harry. This was the same boy whose hair she cut during seventh year. The same boy whose glasses she’d repaired countless times. The same boy who wrote her letters during their holidays growing up and who always seemed to avoid answering when she inquired about his studies. Except he wasn’t a boy any longer, but rather a man who did not understand how women seemed to work. “You know, Harry, you don’t have to ask me formally…”

A deep blush crept across his cheeks at her words and only darkened when she lifted a hand to hide her soft laughter. “I know… I just…” the words evaded him, stuck on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to ask her formally. He didn’t want to assume. He wanted to make sure this was what she wanted as well, but for whatever reason anytime he laid his eyes on her all confidence he held seemed to vanish.

“You just…”

“The-kiss,” he managed with a heavy breath, averting his gaze to stare at wooden floorboards beneath his socked feet.

“What...about it?”

“I-I dunno. I was thinking maybe we could…” Harry looked up from the floorboards, emerald eyes locking on Hermione and he held his breath for a moment, letting the oxygen sit in his lungs before he took the plunge into the icy cold waters of admitting his feelings. “Be-more-than friends.”

Hermione’s eyes widened infinitesimally at his statement, and despite her cool and collected exterior, inside her heart thumped violently beneath her chest in an elated rhythm. More than friends. MORE THAN FRIENDS. Her tongue darted out across her lips as she gave him a small nod, not trusting herself to say anything in this moment that wouldn’t have her looking like a complete moron.

Harry gulped, watching the almost unwelcoming reaction with a small panicked dread. Misinterpreting her lack of response for disinterest, he winced, taking a small half step back. “I-if you don’t want to do I get it… but I think we could try...giving dating a shot...I mean only if you want to! I wouldn’t want to assume--”

“No!” Hermione said quickly, taking a step towards him with an outstretched hand to silence his rambling. “Wait yes… No? Shit. Um. Yes. Yes I would like that!” she rushed out.

Harry’s eyes lit up, and the frog in his throat cracked. “Ye-eah?!”

Hermione nodded, her teeth biting the middle of her bottom lip to silence the ridiculous urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. “Yes, I would like that…very much,” she confirmed, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

“Great… I’ll uh… Be downstairs waiting so we can… talk… in the... parlour.” Harry began to back up, nearly tripping over his own feet after the first several steps.

Hermione lifted a hand and let her fingertips brush against her lips as she laughed, watching him grab the railing to prevent himself from falling ass over tea kettle in the hallway. “Right... Okay. I’ll be down in a moment,” Hermione promised as she moved back to the bathroom door and opened it to slip inside.

“Enjoy the shower!” Harry called out as Hermione slipped into the bathroom, wincing as the realisation set him that he sounded rather foolish. Thankfully, Hermione seemed to either not hear him, or choose to pretend like she hadn’t, for she made no move to respond before shutting the door after herself. He waited a moment, making sure she didn’t change her mind about the shower and reappear in the hallway, before he pumped his fist into the air in celebration. She said yes! Nervous jolts of energy coursed through his veins, and unable to contain it any longer, a soft crow of victory was given as he hurried down the stairs two at a time towards the parlour. He had to make sure everything was perfect. This wasn’t just Hermione anymore...this was… well… his girlfriend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I am writing this FanFiction for fun, no profit is made off the use of these characters.
> 
> Additionally, there are direct lines from 'The Polar Express' by Chris Van Allsburg and those are (obviously) not of my own creation, but rather leveraged to help tell this story because of the fondless I hold for the book and how it impacted my childhood. <3 If you have not read the book, I highly encourage you buy a copy this holiday season and read it!

Hermione stood next to the toilet in the bathroom, a thick purple cotton towel wrapped around her body as she lifted her leg and set her foot on the edge of the closed toilet seat and began to work a small amount of the lotion she had found underneath the sink into her freshly shaven skin. The fresh spearmint smell emanating from the thick lotion tickled her nose. Robicheaux's Quidditch Balm, the preferred brand of all professional Quidditch athletes, or so the faded label boasted. It was likely something he had used while still on the team at Hogwarts and had been shoved under the sink when he moved into Grimmauld Place to be forgotten about, like the various half used bottles of shampoo or hair gel that she had to rifle through until the lotion had been found. While it was obviously not her prefered brand of lotion, it would have to make do. She had not exactly been planning on performing any self-grooming during her overnight with Harry and Teddy, but things had taken a considerable turn for the better.

Lowering her foot back down on the ground, she grabbed the bottle and squirted out another small handful before moving on to her second leg, fingertips massaging it against her skin. It wasn’t that she was planning on anything progressing past their kiss, but… well, it was never good to be unprepared, was it? Besides, they were grown adults. They were well within their rights to have a bit of fun should the situation present itself. And he had just told her he wanted to try to see how things went as more than just friends. Obviously people who were more than just friends shagged, right?

Nodding her head at her silent pep talk of how it was not absurd that she had tidied herself up in the shower, Hermione lowered her foot to the floor and rubbed the remaining lotion on her palms up and down the length of her arms as she moved across the bathroom to her overnight bag. Chocolate brown eyes glanced to the doorknob, making sure the lock was in place before she dropped the thick purple towel from her frame and let it pool around her feet.

She opened the bag further, peering inside at the contents. She had only packed one pair of knickers, as she normally didn’t wear any under her sleep clothes, but now it felt odd. If things did progress, would Harry judge her? Would he think she had pre-planned this?! She knew she was overthinking this, as she had a tendency to do with most things, but she couldn’t help the momentary panic that set in when what she had packed for nightclothes came into view.

Fishing out a pair of dark black sweat pants from her bag, she held them up with a small grimace. “Wow… Great thinking, Hermione,” she mumbled to herself as she eyed the well-worn sweats. “Absolutely perfect.” She could charm them into something more suitable, but that felt much more silly than just wearing them. It wasn’t like Harry hadn’t seen her in sweats before, right? She wore far less flattering clothing while hunting Horcruxes and she was fairly certain he had never judged her then. With a heavy sigh, she shimmied into the warm sweat pants and tied the white string around the waist tight.

A red long sleeve henley was pulled over her head, careful not to knock the towel holding her curls loose and she glanced in the foggy full length mirror on the back of the door. “Could be worse… you could have worn cat pajamas,” she reminded herself before snatching her wand from the counter top. She unwound the towel from her head and applied a thick layer of leave-in conditioner before using a modified heating charm to tame the wild locks into soft waves. It had taken her many years to learn proper hair care. Something her mother with pin straight hair had never really been equipped to help with. Hermione could vividly remember her taking a boars hair brush to her hair as a small child and wonder out loud why Hermione’s hair was in a constant state of frizz.

Once satisfied with her curls, she began to fold up her clothes from the day and tuck them into the overnight bag, making sure none of her unmentionables were left behind. And just as she moved to zip the bag closed,she took a quick glance in the mirror once more and paused. Her cheeks were still flush from the shower, and the small blemishes that ran across her skin seemed to stand out more than ever. The beginnings of what she was sure was a pimple on her chin, and a small scar from her childhood bout with chicken pox over her right eyebrow. Pursing her lips at her less than stellar self assessment she looked down into the overnight bag and pulled out the small make up kit she had packed for tomorrow. She liked to go to bed with a fresh face, but perhaps wearing just a bit of makeup wouldn’t be out of order, would it? She could allow herself to break that rule just this once considering there were several others that had already been thrown out the window this evening.

* * *

Since Hermione had disappeared upstairs Harry felt like he had run a marathon. He had been halfway through picking up the mess in his parlor before he even remembered he was a wizard and could use magic to make quiet work of the newspapers, empty cans and post that he had haphazardly tossed in the room. Once in order, he ran down the flight of stairs to the kitchen and requested Kreacher bring up fresh mugs of mulled wine for the pair, as well as a tray of the holiday cookies the House Elf had baked. It had taken Kreacher and Harry several months to become used to living with one another when he first took possession of Grimmauld Place, but now (thankfully) the grumpy elf only muttered the distasteful things about Harry under his breath as he did what was requested.

Now the room was clean, and Kreacher was tasked with setting the room. Harry had darted into the small washroom on the first floor. He didn’t have time for a shower, obviously, but felt like he needed to make himself at least a bit more presentable. His hair was a mess, he was pretty sure he smelled of dirty dish water, and he hadn’t shaved in two days. His razor was upstairs, in the bathroom with Hermione, which meant that unless he wanted to attempt to sneak into the bathroom while she was in there, he was shit out of luck. However, based on the way she stroked his jaw during their kiss at the beginning of the night, he assumed she probably didn’t mind. Which left just two items to tackle.

Harry moved to the washbasin and plugged it before he filled it with hot water from the tap, the steam curling up from the water and fogging the bottom of the mirror that sat above it. Harry reached up, adjusting his thick frames on his face before he ran his fingers across the unruly thick mop atop his head. His hair, the bane of his aunt’s existence growing up (if you didn’t count him as a whole being, of course). Thick, dark and wild, he had never managed to figure out a way to tame it. He often wondered if his dad had unlocked some hidden secret to Potter hair care because in the photographs he had found of his parents, it had always appeared tidy---well, tidier than his own at the very least. Twisting the front tuft of black hair between his fingers, he pondered the best way to make it appear less like a prickly bush and more contained.

He removed his glasses and set them on the countertop next to the sink before lowering his head toward the sink and beginning to dampen his locks. Scooping up handfuls of the hot water, Harry completely saturated his hair before blindly searching for the tap to turn it off and he stood up. He could feel the water trickle down the back of his neck and soak into the collar of his jumper as he felt around for a small hand towel he knew Kreacher left on a hook near the mirror. Upon finding it, he began to run it briskly through his hair to remove any excess before he popped his glasses back on and searched the drawers until a brush was found, and he went to work at combing down his hair the best he could. He knew it would turn unruly once fully dried, but hoped that the quick rinse might help encourage it to play nicely.

Now that he looked a bit nicer, onto the second problem. His jumper. He smelled like the dish water, he was nearly positive of it, and for some reason he doubted any witch would find that particular scent appealing. Even one as nice as Hermione. Peeling his jumper off his head, Harry tossed the sweater into the corner of the room and he opened the first drawer to his left of the cabinet in search of something that might help mask the smell. Toothpaste, no… Bandaids, no… Cough drops, absolutely not… Deodorant, well, not a bad start, but clearly not what he was looking for. Setting the antiperspirant on the counter top he rifled through the drawer until a tiny sample-sized vial of cologne was found. Uncapping the tiny bottle, Harry dabbed the sides of his neck and rubbed a bit against the soft black hair that matted his chest for good measure before he tossed it back into the drawer, making a mental note to come back and declutter this washroom once this weekend was over.

He could still hear the water of the shower running, which let him breathe a little easier knowing he likely had ten plus minutes left to prepare for Hermione joining him in the parlor. After one final look in the mirror and a quick comb of his hair, Harry moved from the washroom and hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen and past Kreacher’s small nook towards he converted laundry room.

Moving to the first pile of clothing on the floor, Harry grabbed at a plain gray tshirt on the top of the mound and brought it to his nose for a quick sniff test to determine if it was clean or dirty. “Oh Blimey, no!” he muttered quickly and tossed the shirt back onto the pile before scooting it away with his socked foot.

Moving to the next pile, he dug through the mess of jeans and cotton blend tees until he found a dark navy Falmouth Falcon’s shirt and he brought it up to his nose to see if it would pass the smell test. Once he had determined that while probably not clean, it was at least passable and far better than dirty dish water, and he yanked it on over his head as he moved out of the laundry room hastily. “Uh... Kreacher?” Harry called as he began to move through the kitchen, looking around for the aging Elf.

“Yes, Master?” the ancient House Elf croaked as he stuck his droopy face from the tiny little nook he claimed as his space.

“Hermione and I… we...uh... might be busy later. If you could keep an ear out for Teddy… in case we don’t hear…” Harry began, a deep crimson blush running up his cheeks as he fumbled over his words under the unblinking eyes of his overly-judgy help who just looked at him as if he had implied nothing out of the ordinary. “...Just listen for Teddy, okay? And erm… maybe knock before you come get us?”

Kreacher’s head dipped slightly in a silent nod before he disappeared back into his little nook.

“Right... Great,” Harry mumbled, his right hand lifting to smooth over his face, as if trying to wipe the blush away. Turning, he moved back up the stairs from the kitchen, taking them two at a time to the first story, and he moved into the parlour. Emerald eyes ran over the room a minimum of three times to make sure it was perfect. Mugs of mulled wine, the cookies on the table, the two large wingback chairs facing each other in front of the fire. Everything was in order. Now he just had to wait.

Harry moved across the room, internally debating what chair to choose, or if he should even be sitting when she entered the room, when the franticness of the last half an hour finally caught up to him. “Merlin, what is wrong with you?” Harry muttered to himself as he lowered himself into a chair and cupped his face. His fingers slipped under his lenses to press softly into his eye sockets as a heavy sigh was given. He was acting like some first year! This was Hermione, his best friend. A woman he had known since boyhood and someone who he held close to his heart for far better reasons that just fancying her. Which was probably why he was panicky, but if he broke it down, if he remembered what had occurred earlier, it seemed quite silly, because she had kissed him back. Beyond that she agreed to the possibility of them being something more than friends. He was overthinking this.

Of course, none of this seemed to matter when he heard the light footsteps of the woman in question approaching because suddenly all he could do was stare at the entrance to the room with breath locked in his lungs.

When Hermione entered, it seemed like the world paused, as if just for a second. The lighting was dim, the soft twinkle of Christmas lights and the crackling fire were the only things providing any sort of luminescence for the room. Harry was sure she could hear his heartbeat from across the room, because he could feel it pulse violently in his fingertips as he watched her begin across the room. “Hi…”

Hermione’s shy grin expanded across her lips, her hands bashfully smoothing out the red henley she wore over her stomach. “Fancy meeting you here,” she teased as she approached, bare feet creating a soft slap against the hardwood floor of the room.

Harry laughed, probably a little too hard, at her joke and gestured to the chair across from him. “Take a seat… I had Kreacher bring us up some more mulled wine...and cookies if you were hungry,” Harry explained, and once Hermione had taken her seat across from him, he held out the blue porcelain mug for her to take.

“Trying to get me drunk, Harry?” Hermione questioned, playfully lifting her brows at him as she leaned over and wrapped her hands around the mug.

“W-What?!” Harry’s emerald eyes widened at her question, clearly missing the tone she held. “Uhh. No! Hermione I would never---”

Her right hand lifted, fingertips pressing against her lips as she laughed. “Harry, I was only joking.” She laughed before glancing down at the warm liquid inside her mug when he gave a small ‘oh’  in reply. “I’m sorry… I was just trying to have a bit of a laugh. Break the tension, you know?”   


“Don’t apologize. It was… funny. I’m just… well… nervous,” Harry admitted as he picked up his own mug of warmed wine and took a large sip. Liquid courage and all. Anything that would help him tonight would have been consumed had he kept his potion’s cabinet stocked; Liquid Wit, or a Sip of Courage would have been nice. Hell, he would have paid Slughorn a large sum of money for Felix Felicis if he had known how his night was going to start.

“Well, don’t be,” Hermione replied frankly. “Because I want to be here...with you.”

Harry’s smile couldn’t help but widen at her words and he nodded. Her words were helpful, but did little to calm the riotous butterflies that rolled around in his stomach. “Good, because I don’t think I would have let you leave,” Harry mumbled into his mug before taking another large drink of his wine before letting the warm porcelain mug rest between his palms.

Silence fell over the room; only the sound of the fire crackling could be heard as the obvious tension between the pair seemed to build. Neither sure of what to say, or to do. They had been friends for ten years, but suddenly it felt like everything was brand new again.

Shifting in his seat, Harry glanced down to the wrist watch she had gifted him earlier in the night and it sparked a sudden idea in his mind. Clearing his throat, he glanced over to Hermione who had settled into the winged back chair as she looked around the room casually. “Since you’ve already given me my Christmas gift, would you like yours early as well?”

Hermione seemed to ponder the question for a moment before nodding and she scooted forward in the chair, reaching out to set her mug down on the table. “Sure. I supposed that is only fair,” she reasoned. “And if we get it done now then we can just focus on Teddy in the morning.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Harry said with a smile and he stood up from the chair, making it halfway across the room before he remembered where he had left her present, and his confident stride slowed to a stop.

“Everything alright?” Hermione questioned, her head tilting to the side as she watched him.

“Eh... yeah. Everything's fine. I just remembered,” Harry began, turning around to watch the witch with a soft blush on his cheeks. “I...uh… I never brought your present down earlier.”

“Oh that’s fine. We can just pop upstairs and grab it,” Hermione offered as she stood up from the chair. “Is it in the office?”

“No…It’s in my room.” Harry replied slowly, watching as her cheeks begin to blush as she averted her gaze from his. “I can go get it. You don’t have to come,” he assured her quickly. He must have looked like he planned this, when in reality the proposition of her accompanying him to retrieve a forgotten item from his bedroom would not have felt so depraved just days earlier.

“No!” Hermione said quickly, glancing up to the wizard with wide eyes. “...I want to come… I mean... We can go together. No sense in walking upstairs and coming back down…if we’re just going to go to bed soon anyways…”

Harry stood frozen for a moment, her voice echoing in his ears as he gulped down a lump in his throat. “Uh huh…that makes perfect sense,” he managed nervously as he wiped his hand against the side of his jeans, hoping to pull some of the sweat from it before he held it out for her to take. “So… you coming then?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> I am writing this FanFiction for fun, no profit is made off the use of these characters.
> 
> Additionally, there are direct lines from 'The Polar Express' by Chris Van Allsburg and those are (obviously) not of my own creation, but rather leveraged to help tell this story because of the fondless I hold for the book and how it impacted my childhood. <3 If you have not read the book, I highly encourage you buy a copy this holiday season and read it!

Hermione slipped past Harry and through the open door to his bedroom, giving him a small smile in thanks. She’d been in here before, but it felt so different now. She couldn’t help but notice all the small details. The filagree worn on the four poster bed that had previously belonged to his godfather, the rich burgundy comforter, the warmth from the fireplace lit across from his bed, or the way the room smelt exactly like Harry. Freshly mown grass, new parchment, spearmint toothpaste and the musk of a cologne he began wearing during fourth year. The combination of the scents caused the small flame in the bottom of her belly to roar higher until it licked at the base of her heart and began to ignite a dull ache between her thighs. Turning around, she let her feet drag across the wooden planks of his floor and watched as he carefully shut the door behind him once he had cleared the threshold into his room after her.

Harry leaned back on the heavy wooden door, emerald eyes drinking in the image of the witch before him. The nervousness he had felt boiling over as he lead her up there seemed to vanish, and instead he was now filled with strange confidence as he watched her lips part to exhale a shaky breath. Her gift long forgotten,  it was obvious that they both clearly had only one thought in mind now that they were here alone.

Harry moved towards her first, letting the heavy silence between them lay bare as he reached to her and she came willingly into his arms. His mouth found hers with a hand at her cheek, his fingertips sinking into the side of her curls as he pulled her body tight to his. He had dreamed of this moment for as long as he could remember: pulling her into his arms, a shared kiss, the feeling of her heart thumping in time with his own. He had longed for it since fifth year, even if he had to lie to himself for all the years she had spent dating Ron.

Hermione’s lips parted, allowing his tongue passage into her mouth, and when his hand on her hips slowly slipped beneath the hemline to her henley and pressed against her lower back, his index finger dipping just beneath the waistband of her sweats, an involuntary moan was pushed into Harry’s eager mouth. Her own hands seemed to find a life of their own, forcing a path across his chest, fingers bending to the etching of the well-defined muscles that lay hidden beneath his shirt. She knew he had bulked up since school, but good lord it should be illegal to possess the amount of muscles she felt.

As his tongue swept against hers, beckoning her to deepen the kiss, Harry tilted his head to the left and began to slowly walk her back, his hips framing hers as they moved until he felt the resistance of her legs against the side of his bed. His hand on her cheek slowly slipped down the column of her neck, his fingertips brushing across her pulse point and working their way down the side of her body to rest on her hip as he slowly broke from the kiss as his mind raced. Was this too forward? This was all happening so damn fast, and well, maybe these feelings were new to her. Maybe he needed to ask? That was the gentlemanly thing to do in this moment, wasn’t it?

With his hands on her hips, Harry gently took a step back, giving some room between them as he let out an uneven breath to help collect his thoughts. It was then he felt movement between them, her elbows brushing against his forearms, and he cracked open his eyes just in time to see her head pop out of the red henley shirt that had clung to her torso seconds earlier. Emerald eyes widened as he drank in the sight of Hermione topless, her round breasts no longer hidden beneath the night shirt, or even that lace bra from earlier. Her pink nipples were already hard, peaked, begging to be plucked and tasted. His brain backfired as he tried to process what was before him, causing his mouth to fall open as he drank in her topless figure. She had soft curves, that much he had known for years, but to see them now, laid bare... Merlin, her clothing did her little justice. The large, once-pink scar on her side from Dolohov’s curse glittered with an iridescent sheen that would have given away the dark properties of what had hit her, even if Harry was none the wiser. On her collarbone and neck lay the pink scar from the cursed blade, another permanent reminder of war, but even with the blemishes, whether self-induced (like the small indentation on her index and middle finger of where her quill rested when she wrote), or given to her by someone else, Hermione was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. She was… perfect.

Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed before leaning back on her elbows and she slowly crawled across the thick burgundy comforter, her chocolate brown eyes glued to Harry as she moved. Her teeth bit her bottom lip as worry of her forwardness began to eat at her subconscious. Maybe she was moving too fast? “Harry?” she called softly when he made no move to follow.

As if snapped from his stupor, her voice pulled him back to reality and he suddenly felt incredibly overdressed. His hands found the hem of his shirt and he yanked it over his head, knocking his glasses askew, and the last remaining order that his hair held was gone by the time he tossed the debatably clean shirt across the room towards his hamper. “Hermione?” he questioned back as he sank his right knee onto the mattress.

Hermione’s heart sprang into the base of her throat, her eyes running across his torso. His chest held a light smattering of thick black hair. Hidden beneath she could make out the circular scar from the locket, but moreover, various small spell marks from his years tracking dark wizards. Her impulse to reach for him and run her mouth over every single scar screamed at her, but she knew now was not the time. Maybe one day she would be given the opportunity, but right now was about more than that. Right now was about giving in to an urge she had felt for so long. When her gaze ran further down his body, she felt her pulse quicken, reaching its peak tempo when it followed the thin trail of black hair beneath his belly button to his beltline and a very noticeable bulge in his jeans gave way to what exactly he was feeling.

Her eyes lifted to his to find his pupils blown wide with lust, only a thin ring of green visible now and she shivered in anticipation. “Kiss me,” she instructed, lifting her right elbow off the mattress and her hand went out towards him, fingers reaching to touch his skin once more.

Harry did not have to be told twice. He crawled across the mattress, his knees slipping between her legs and parting them with his hips as he moved across her body until he hovered over her. His mouth found hers quickly, and as she threaded her fingers into his hair, Harry placed one hand onto the mattress beside her head to hold himself steady as his other hand dragged up the side of her body until he could cup her breast.

Hermione quivered under his touch, her body practically vibrating with nervous anticipation as his fingers kneaded the soft flesh of her breast.  This was far from her first time, but for some reason everything felt so new. So awoken. As his thumb swept across the peaked bud of her nipple her back arched off the mattress to push more of her body into his palm, wanting nothing more than to feel him pluck the piano-tight strings of her body like a well trained musician.

Harry swallowed up her moans in his mouth, eating them like he was a starved man. He wasn’t even aware a person could make the little noises that she was, sending drudging waves of need straight to his cock as his fingers plucked and twisted lightly at her nipple before moving to the other as he rolled onto his side so he lay on the mattress next to her. He could do this for hours, and never be bored, but he longed to see what other little noises he might entice from her.

Hermione whimpered when Harry’s mouth left hers, and she almost reached up and pulled his mouth back to hers, but when his lips pressed fondly against her neck, she reconsidered that thought. Her head tipped back against the mattress, exposing more of her flesh to him. She lifted her right hand to cup over his that was on her breast and slowly guided it further down her body, over her ribs, across her belly button and lower until their joined fingertips hit the elastic waistband of her sweatpants.

Harry’s teeth nibbled at her collarbone before kissing across the scar, his tongue dipping out to lavish against it as he pushed his hand lower, moving an inch at a time. He wasn’t certain if her boldness right now was in the moment, or just how Hermione was (always sure of precisely what she wanted), but right now he could not be more grateful for her certainty because it left little to interpretation. When his fingers brushed across the neatly trimmed hair across her mons, his cock throbbed nearly painfully. Merlin, was this really happening? He had dreamt of this for so long, wondered what she looked like beneath her undergarments, fantasized about what he would find and now here he was. Her body spread across his bed with her hand on his forearm, clutching it for support.

Hermione’s nails bit against his skin when his fingers slipped through her pussy, brushing across her clit as they ventured lower to moisten themselves on her essence. His name tumbled from her lips, and she spread her legs wider, offering him more room to explore. It did not take long for him find a rhythm that had his name being whispered like a prayer into the quiet of his bedroom, her hips rocking into him as the base of his palm ground softly against her clit as he worked his index and middle fingers into her tight channel.

He could feel her pleasure rising, the walls of her pussy in a near vice-like grip on his fingers, and just as he sped up, prepared to bring her over the edge, she reached down to still his movement. His eyes lifted from where he was watching her body tremble from what he was doing to her face, his brow knit with confusion. Did he do something wrong?!

“H-Harry,” Hermione stammered, glassy eyes searching his as she panted. “I-I need you,” she managed, her tongue darting out to dampen her suddenly dry lips.

She needed him…She _needed_ him. Harry nodded, quickly pulling his hand from inside her sweatpants, and he rolled back on the bed to make quick work of his belt. Not bothering with removing it from his pants, he simply unbuckled it before unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his legs with his boxers in tow. His legs kicked them off, thankfully taking his socks with them as they hit the wooden floor with a loud thud. Turning back to Hermione, his eyes dropped to her waist to already find her without her bottoms either and he couldn’t help the primal groan that slipped from his throat.

It was Hermione’s turn to look at him in reverie. He was big, not frighteningly so, but enough to cause her core to ache fiercely in desire. Her eyes flickered up to his, and she reached out to rest her hand against the side of his face as she leaned up to kiss him once more.

Harry moved on top of her, his knees parting her legs once more, spreading her wide open for him as he framed his hips against hers before reaching down to grasp the base of his cock, and he swept himself through her folds in a testing brush.

Hermione’s legs bent at the knee, and she lifted her right leg to rest against his hips, giving her leverage to rock against the head of his cock wantonly as he positioned himself against her entrance. She needed this...she needed him. Merlin, how she had allowed herself to go this long without him in her life in this capacity was beyond her, because in this moment nothing felt more right than the sparks that flew between them.

Harry’s hips pressed forward and he sank into her heat, the warmth of her pussy enveloping his cock, and he had to quickly shift gears in his mind and think of absolutely anything other that how fucking amazing it felt to be inside her. Quidditch...Paperwork…Potions.

Hermione keened, her body stretching to accommodate his cock with a primal ease as she arched up off the mattress and pressed her breasts tight against his chest. His pace was slow, testing to figure out what felt good for them both before he picked up the rhythm with a renewed confidence. It had been months since she had last shagged someone, but she was almost one hundred percent certain it had not felt like this last time -- this bloody fucking amazing.

Harry broke their kiss, his forehead pressing lightly against hers as the sound of their bodies joining echoed around his bedroom, mixing with the soft little moans she made to create what he was certain was something he would never tire of hearing. His name had never sounded better before. Long gone was the disapproving drawl she childed at him in their youth, replaced with a cry that further fueled his desire for her. He was close, so very close to the edge, every muscle of his body tightening in anticipation of a climax he was desperate to fight off. At least until he had made her find her own.

Hermione’s legs lifted, resting on either side of Harry’s hips as he rocked against her, and she dropped her hand from his shoulder, carefully sliding it down her body until her fingers dropped to feel where their bodies joined, his manhood pistoning out of her, laying claim to the most intimate parts of her body. Nothing had felt so erotic before. Lifting her fingers to her clit, Hermione rubbed small precise circles, working the little bundle of nerves around until the combination of his cock deep inside her and the self induced pleasure on her clit pushed her into the open arms of bliss.

White heat burst behind her eyes, the tension in her body instantly vanishing as the only thing she could do was gasp Harry’s name as she trembled under his touch. The world around them seemed to fade. There was nothing else that mattered in that moment. No Ron, no Teddy, no worry about how exploring a relationship with Harry was going to affect their friendship. Nothing fucking mattered.

Harry felt her walls flutter, squeezing his cock impossibly tight, and her body trembled with spent adrenaline, and he finally gave in to his own climax. His head dropped from hers, resting in the crook of her shoulder as he ground his hips against hers in small circles as his seed spilled inside her. His fingers curled into the mattress on either side of her, and only the most primal moans could be uttered as he rode out the drudging waves of his own orgasm.

Slowly, careful not to pull out too fast, Harry rolled onto the mattress next to her, his body sprawled on top of the thick burgundy comforter, his heart thumping so wildly beneath his chest he was sure it was going to break free and run away. Reaching up, Harry’s fingers swept the fringe of his hair off his forehead  before adjusting his frames on the bridge his nose and he glanced over to Hermione, a slow grin spreading across his lips when their eyes met.

“Harry,” Hermione breathed as she attempted to regain her own breath.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t look so…” Her mind pondered the best adjective to use. He looked positively pleased with himself. Like a cat who’d gotten into cream. And while it did not upset her to know she was the cause of this expression, it did slightly embarrass her. “Smug.”

Harry’s eyes crinkled as his smile widened with laughter. How he even thought this was going to change their relationship was beyond him. Hermione would always be… well--Hermione. Something he had both loved and hated about the witch growing up, and now it just seemed absolutely perfect because that's exactly what she was to him. Perfection. “I’ll do my best.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, looking up at the ceiling as she rested her hands over her stomach, feeling the rise and fall of her body as she regained her breath. “I didn’t think--” Hermione began, mustering up the courage to put to words something she had wanted to since he first kissed her earlier. “--you liked me like that...like this.”

“Oh?” Harry lifted a thick black brow at her, it poking almost boyish over the top of his frames as he rolled on his side to face her. Reaching out, his hand smoothed across her abdomen and found hers to lace their fingers together. “And what about now? Do you feel the same?”

Hermione snorted, looking back over to the wizard with an amused expression that could rival the late Severus Snape’s. “Of course not,” she scoffed, her fingers gently squeezing Harry’s, “I was simply commenting on how surprising that… well, all of this is.”

Harry nodded in agreement, his lips pursing to the side of his mouth as he shrugged innocently. “I didn’t invite you over here in an attempt to seduce you, but I’m rather glad it worked out like this,” he admitted, laughing when she swatted as his chest with the back of her free hand. “‘Mione I’ve liked you for...for ages. I never thought you’d ever give me a shot.”

“Ages?” Hermione repeated, her brows lifting at this skeptically.

“I could lie and say I knew fourth year at Yule ball--” Harry started, only pausing to laugh when Hermione very visibly eye-rolled a statement she had heard several times before by various suitors over the years. “-- but we both know how smitten I was for Cho at that time.”

“Harry, are you really trying to talk about an old flame right after we...you know!?”

Harry snorted, trying to dampen his laughter so he didn’t offend the witch who was eyeing him with a narrowed gaze. His hand let go of hers and lifted to stroke the back of his fingers across her cheeks as he shook his head no. “Fifth year. Since fifth year I’ve fancied you,” he explained as he tucked her wild curls behind her ear.

“Fifth year?” Doubt dripped into her tone, unable to help the skepticism that seeped into the moment. Fifth year _had_ been ages ago! It was well before anything between her and Ron. If his claims were true, Harry would have had ample opportunity to make his move in their youth! Something that Hermione would have willingly accepted, even back then.

“We were in Charms. You were talking to Neville. Helping him with his wrist movement on engorgio...and I...I just knew I fancied you,” Harry admitted, his wide grin dampening to a bittersweet grin as the memory replayed in his mind. The way her hair spilled from the thick bun on the top of her head, and the sunlight made it look like fresh caramel. The smile she wore, the laugh. She was more beautiful then than she had ever been before. So at ease, in her element: helping others.

Hermione blushed, her eyes averting from his as his words sunk in. “Sixth year...for me,” she said timidly. “I...I always had a bit of a crush, but… sixth year was when I knew for certain. When you started dating Ginny.”

Harry’s eyes softened, watching as she nervously picked at her cuticles as she spoke, her eyes still hidden from his.

“I was so torn between happiness because you're both my friends and I wanted you both to be happy, but also being...so bitterly devastated because…because I hoped that once Cho didn’t return your interest you would finally see me.”

Harry’s fingers ran down her delicate jaw to her chin and he carefully tipped her face up, his eyes finding hers once more. “I’ve always seen you, ‘Mione. You’ve always been the most beautiful girl in the room...how you thought anyone wouldn’t see is quite silly.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Oh stop it,” she scolded.

“I’m dead serious!” Harry insisted.

Reaching up, Hermione pushed his hand away from her chin, her blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. “I...uh...I thought we were coming up here for you to give me my gift,” Hermione teased, hoping to use the abrupt change of subject to allow her time for her mind to catch up to her heart.

“Oh shit. We were, weren’t we?” Harry laughed, glancing over his shoulder before back to the witch and he leaned over to press his lips against hers in a quick kiss. “One second, kay?” When he got a confirmed nod back, Harry slipped from the bed and began to move across the room, the glow from the fire lighting his way as he moved towards his dresser.

Hermione crawled up the bed and slipped under the covers, pulling it up to her chest as she glanced around the room curiously as she waited. The last time she had been in his bedroom, it had been so messy: boyhood clutter lined the shelves, empty bottles of water or ale on most surfaces. Now, it was either Kreacher’s doing or his own, but either way the room was downright tidy. Short of their clothing that had been stripped off in haste earlier, nothing cluttered his floor, not a single bottle was in sight and long gone were the Quidditch posters and magazines.

Harry moved quickly, pulling open the third drawer in his dresser and he pulled out the brightly wrapped package. It was no larger than a shoebox, and whatever lay inside was obviously light. Nudging the drawer shut with his knee, Harry moved back to the bed and slipped beneath the covers next to her before laying the present in her lap.

Hermione’s brow knit… no. He wouldn’t have. Grabbing the package, she gave it a small shake and when the contents rolled around with a familiar sort of rumble, her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Harry, you cannot be serious!”

“Whaaat?!” Harry feigned innocence, his laughter breaking through his act as he watched her rip open the wrapping paper to reveal a broomstick servicing kit. “You always said the best gifts are the kind that keep on giving--ow!”

Hermione had lobbed the package directly at his chest, her own laugher mixing with his as she crossed her arms over her chest, unable to keep herself from remaining stern as he rubbed the center of his chest were the box had scratched him. “Harry James Potter, you’re absolutely the worst. You know that?”

“I know… but something tells me you’re going to be a lot more forgiving about that now.” Reaching out, Harry pulled Hermione into his arms and eased them down onto the mattress as he nuzzled the back of her hair fondly. “I’m sorry,” his voice was soft against the back of her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her body back into his until he lay spooning her, their naked bodies flush against one another. “It was pretty funny though, you have to admit.”

“You owe me a real gift, you know?” Hermione told him, not willing to admit the humor in his present.

“I know,” Harry agreed, smirking into her hair.

“A proper one,” she added for good measure.

“Of course.”

When the antique clock that sat atop his mantle began to chime, signaling the dawning of a new day, Hermione reached down, her hand laying over the top of his on her middle, and she laced her fingers into his, letting the comfort of his hold relax her. “Harry?”

“Hm?” the wizard mumbled. He pulled of his glasses and tossed them haphazardly on the nightstand with the expertise of someone who had done it several hundred times. His eyelids suddenly felt exceptionally heavy, and he doubted he would be able to keep them open for much longer now that she was in his arms. The warmth of her body against his was beginning to lull him to sleep.

“Happy Christmas,” Hermione yawned.

“Happy Christmas, ‘Mione,” he returned before nuzzling against her shoulder to pepper her skin with soft kisses as he cuddled in closer. As his nose ran across her skin, Harry’s brow furrowed and he pulled back just a hair to look down at the back of the witch in confusion before he leaned in to smell her skin once more. “Uh… ‘Mione?” Harry questioned.

“Yeah?” It was Hermione’s turn to offer a sleepy reply as she nuzzled into the comforter, not sensing the confusion from the wizard behind her.

“No offence…but why do you smell like the Quidditch locker room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing. Drop me a line and let me know what you thought! and of course, Happy Christmas/Yule/Hanukkah/Candlenights/Whatever you might be celebrating this December.


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